Page 92 of Red

He guides me toward the house. “Come on. There’s lots of people who want to meet you.”

We walk over to where Stark stands, and Nikolas smiles away; I grin up at him. He was Pratt’s best friend since before they turned. Nikolas got to come to the house. He’s the only friend Pratt still brought over after that day in the front yard at least for the first few years. He keeps his arm wrapped around my waist while we make introductions. Stark shifts away from us to Jocko.

“Aloka, meet our Alpha Oliver and his mate Iris.”

Oliver wears his long coppery hair down behind his shoulders. Veins stand out along his forearms when he shakes my hand.

“It’s wonderful to meet Pratt’s secret sister. We wish he’d talked more about you,” Oliver says, his words not matching his analyzing gaze, like he’s got a hundred questions I won’t be able to answer.

Pratt didn’t talk much about them either.

Instead of shaking my hand Iris closes her hands over mine.

“Welcome.” Despite her soft words, she gives that energy of a woman not to mess with her black hair pin-straight and short, reaching her chin.

“I’m sorry for your loss as well. I know he loved many of you.”

We all head inside, where I get a few more hugs from Pratt’s friends. The meeting starts and I give my routine speech. After questions, Oliver and Iris step up to the front, holding a small, thin rectangle wrapped in brown paper.

“Aloka, we’ve been meaning to give this to you. It hung above Pratt’s bunk when he stayed here and we finally had it framed.” Oliver holds it out.

Iris steps forward and pulls the paper wrapping off, then turns the wooden frame toward me. My body freezes. It’s one of Pratt’s paintings; he stopped after Mom passed. The paints in our hobby room have collected dust for the last few years.

Two dark-chocolate wolves stand at different heights. Mom’s a bit shorter, with her green eyes and one light front leg. The other is tall and solid-colored, Pratt’s brown eyes staring at me. I wipe my hand over my face and get a bit closer. Between them is a short girl with red-rimmed brown eyes, her brown hair blowing wild behind her like flames. In the background, the sky is ruby red.

“He said the red sky resembled your fiery spirit even, without wolf blood,” Iris shares with me.

Tears stream down my cheeks, and I smile at the painting. It’s so much more than anyone could imagine “Thank you. This is the best gift I’ve ever received.”

The room starts to clap, and I look up at Jocko, who smiles. Kiya does too. Stark stares past me at the red-skyed photo.

Oliver and Iris’s home is magnificent, with huge beams stretching across the arched ceiling in the dining room. Another beam hangs short of the length of the dining table wrapped in black wires, with individual bulbs hanging down at different heights below.

“Best Pratt story.” Nikolas stands up next to me. “Out on patrol, we came across a young boy alone in the woods—one we recognized from the area. He was running full speed through a well-used trail. We stopped him to talk, and he told us that everyone in his class had turned into a werewolf. He thought if he ran fast enough, he’d turn.”

A few laugh. The idea of young kids trying to turn is an entertainment for most.

“Pratt wanted to help, so he came up with this grand plan. We left this kid running, then Pratt went up the trail, where he launched, and releasing the largest growl as he cut the boy’s path off. The kid wept, wet his pants, and didn’t turn. Pratt was mortified when the kid’s mom came and scolded us here afterward.”

“She was fuming. I was worried I’d have to intervene when she threatened to rip his throat out,” Oliver adds to the end of the story.

I start laughing, and so does the rest of the table. Hearing stories Pratt never told me fills me with pride. He did have more of a life than I thought, and I’m so glad he had everyone here.

Dinner goes by with even more laughter. It becomes a challenge to give the best Pratt story, and I grasp every single detail. It would’ve been so nice to be here the whole time.

A gaze graces my cheek, and I look around for the blue. Stark is looking at me for the first time all week. Then he looks over at the door as an Elder steps in. My skin burns, and the glass in my hand tips onto the table.

“Sorry,” I say, grabbing a napkin to dry the water running off the edge of the table.

“Don’t worry about it.” Iris gets up and comes back with a towel.

“I have another Pratt story,” a younger man says.

“That will have to wait,” Oliver addresses the table as the large Elder comes over. His eyes never leave my face. I want to rip his throat out. Why is he here? The one who lashed my back. “Aloka, I’d like you to meet Darwin.”

My legs burn, and I shift on the chair. I bite the inside of my cheek to distract from the magic flaring within me. “We’ve met.”

“Please, come with us. He’d like to hear about your ventures into human territory,” says Oliver.